Mark Darcy's Diary Outtakes
by trixie30111
Summary: This will contain any bits I had to cut from the main story but I like too much to cast aside completely


**This is a bit I had to cut out of chapter 6 as it took the story in the wrong direction and was only written because I love my bunny so much!**

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I woke up suddenly, the bright light streaming in through the open curtains dazzling me as I opened my eyes and sat bolt upright, confused as to where I was. The unfamiliar bright white of the room gave me a momentary thrill of alarm that I was in hospital, before my heart rate slowed and the memories of last night's frankly bizarre turn of events returned to me. I was in the guest bedroom, a room I had barely entered since my having been exiled there by my ex wife. I was also fully dressed and, after checking the bedside clock for confirmation, painfully aware of the fact that I had only had two hours sleep.

Groaning, I pulled myself into a standing position and made a vain attempt to smooth out my clothes slightly. I picked up my mobile from the bedside table and called Bridget. As I listened to the steady ringing of her not answering her phone, I looked at myself in the mirror. A dark shadow covered my chin and I ran my hand over it, acquiescing that I needed a shave in the very near future. My eyes were shaded in grey and I think it was safe to say that I looked a mess, the bright light from the window throwing every line and wrinkle into sharp relief. I swept my hair back from my face experimentally. With a sense of impending doom I examined my receding hairline, certain that it had crept back even further. I was tempted to measure it with a ruler but decided against it as that was the sort of thing that could turn into a habit and besides, no amount of measuring could hold back the inexorable tide of my hair, moving slowly but surely to baldness. As the phone clicked on to Bridget's answer machine, I was snapped from my depression before I could even consider how much greyer I had become, and went to my room for a much need shower.

Upon entering, I heard a scuffling noise from under the bed and resisted the urge to jump up on the bed screaming like a girl. With not a little trepidation, I pulled up the corner of the quilt and knelt down to peer under the bed. There, covered with dust, was the rabbit that had been deposited unceremoniously on my bed by the schizophrenic son of my unscrupulous ex housekeeper. Looking up onto the bedspread, I noted the evidence of the rabbit's fear, as well as several ripped areas.

I sighed, a sigh that felt like it came from the very pit of my stomach and turned to sit on the floor, my head leaning back and resting on the bed. In a situation that felt somewhat typical to me, my room was an utter state and I had fired the person who was designated to clean it. I took my phone out of my pocket and tried dialling Bridget's number again. I squeezed my eyes shut and pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose in frustration – it was engaged again. I wondered if Bridget had left it off the hook on purpose in order to avoid me, although that didn't seem like the sort of game she would play. I felt an unexpected weight on my lap and my eyes shot open in surprise. The rabbit had jumped up onto my lap. Amazed by its tameness, I absently began stroking its ears.

After a few minutes I became aware of the fact that, despite indications to the contrary, the poor creature had had nothing to eat or drink all night and so, scooping it into my arms, I carried it downstairs in search of something to feed it.

Entering the kitchen, the rabbit began struggling until I placed it down as carefully as I could onto the granite worktop. I opened one of the stark white cupboards and pulled out a saucer. I filled it with water from the tap and set it down on the worktop. The rabbit edged towards it nervously before drinking from it, then jumping into it and flicking water all over the place. After a false start, when I opened yet another cupboard – the contents of which I did not believe I have ever seen before, I found the fridge. I fumbled for the concealed handle and was greeted with a sight that was as bare as the kitchen itself. Aside from a few bottles of wine there was very little else, although I was gratified to find an only slightly withered carrot in the salad tray. I set that down next to the water and, whilst the rabbit was distracted by it, I retrieved my phone from my pocket once more.

Initially I phoned Rosita, assuming that her son would be keen to have his pet returned to him as soon as possible. However, over the course of a rather shrill and hurried conversation (Rosita seemed to be mourning the breakdown of our relationship rather less than I - I imagined that was due both to the hefty severance payment I gave her, and also to the fact that, as she informed me, she already had two new jobs) it transpired that the rabbit was actually due to be a meal for his pet snake. Looking over at the rabbit, delicately nibbling the carrot, I felt a twinge of annoyance at the inconvenience it had caused me. However, I was not callous enough to return it to its short lived fate, and, as Rosita seemed indifferent to the prospect of me returning the animal, I found myself saying the words 'in that case, I think it best that I just hang onto it,'

With a sinking feeling I acknowledged that ridding myself of the animal from whence it came was not going to be possible and sought to make alternative arrangements.

After another fruitless attempt to contact Bridget, I got the number of a local pet shop and phoned them, hoping to donate the rabbit to them. When I told the owner I had a rabbit to give away, he made a noise somewhat akin to the one a mechanic makes when one takes their car in and says 'it's making a funny knocking sound',

"So let me get this straight, you bought a rabbit and now you want to return it?" he said dubiously.

"No, no. I didn't buy it, someone else did,"

"So someone bought you a rabbit…as a present? Sounds like a film – it's still alive isn't it? It's not been boiled?" he sniggered at his own joke.

"Yes, I can assure you it is still very much alive and making a great deal of mess in my kitchen,"

"And there's nothing wrong with it?" he asked suspiciously,

"No, I just don't want it, the thing is – " I began, but he cut me off with a tirade about how irresponsible it was to buy pets that weren't wanted. However, in the end he agreed to take the rabbit. Just as I was signing off the conversation, he finished with,

"Don't forget to bring your receipt though,"

"My...what?" I asked in dismay,

"Your receipt, to prove you bought it from me, otherwise you won't be able to return it,"

"I didn't buy it from you, I think there has been a misunderstanding here. I – due to circumstances entirely out of my control – have found myself in loco parentis of a rabbit, which I never asked for and don't want, and was hoping you would take it off my hands," again he made the teeth sucking noise as he digested this information.

"Oh no Sir, we can't just take any rabbit, for one thing we only buy our rabbits from recognised breeders. Then there's the risk of disease….You're best off taking it back to wherever it was bought from,"

"But I don't _know_ where it came from," I said in a low voice, frustration from the conversation with this obtuse man beginning to show.

"Oh well in that case, you might be best off taking it to the vet, and getting it put down," I gasped slightly at this.

"And that's my only other option?" I asked, my voice raising an octave,

"You could always take it to a rescue centre…" he said uncertainly. This sounded far preferable to me and an image of the rabbit skipping happily along a sun drenched lawn popped into my head. It would be happy there, have lots of rabbit friends. I could maybe even take Bridget to visit it one day,

"And they'll look after it there?"

"Oh no, they'll try to re-home it, but if they can't after a week, it'll get put down. It really would be best if you kept the rabbit – after all someone thought you would want one, otherwise they wouldn't have bought it for you"

I assured him that would not be possible and thanked him sadly, before hanging up. Turning the pages in the phone book from 'P' to 'V', I looked over to the animal that was currently peering over the edge of the counter, presumably looking for an escape.

"I wish I knew one for you, little fellow," I said, before feeling faintly stupid for talking to a dumb animal. Although it had recently escaped the clutches of a psychotic child and his hungry snake, death seemed to be at its every turn. I sat my head in my hands, feeling inordinately tired, and wishing more than ever that Bridget would phone so I could ask her advice. I got up and went to stroke the rabbit's head as I dialled the number, resigned to what I was about to do, although to say I was happy would be a lie. The man answered and I sighed as he went through his automatic greeting, feeling angry that the responsibility for this animal's fate had been left to me. I paused for a moment, running through the options one last time in my head before I spoke,

"Hello, I spoke to you a moment ago. I don't suppose you sell rabbit hutches do you?" Shearer nuzzled its nose into my hand.


End file.
